


Satisfaction Brought It Back

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Lancelot have to go to extraordinary lengths to see what Merlin is trying to hide in the bedroom.</p><p>Written for the <i>kinkme_merlin</i> prompt - '<i>Arthur and Lancelot take turns at Merlin, trying to see how many times they can make him come</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfaction Brought It Back

It is amazing how pleasantly a weekend can be spent in the woods in the company of your second-in-command and your manservant. Arthur has, with his father's permission, retreated to the family's hunting lodge some miles into the forest surrounding Camelot in order to hunt deer for the kitchens. They require a stag, something impressive, as Uther is having guests from a kingdom to the south and there is to be a banquet to welcome them.

The stag is a ten-pointer, not bad as a display but probably going to be a bit tough. Arthur makes a mental note to stick to the pork.

But while this is ostensibly the entire point of the trip, and they've achieved it already, Arthur took good care to tell his father not to expect him back for two days. Leon is more than capable of looking after the knights for a while, and there is nothing Arthur needs to be concerned with other than enjoying his holiday.

'And I suppose I'm going to have to gut this thing, am I?' Merlin asks as they're hauling their stag back on a makeshift sledge.

'As if we'd trust you with knives,' Arthur scoffs. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Lancelot grin.

'I saw what you did to that poor chicken,' Merlin points out. 'You oughtn't to be allowed to mutilate innocent food. Back me up here, Lancelot.'

In the end they share the work and share the mess, most of which ends up on Merlin and on the floor of the little outhouse that was probably meant to be used by the servants, when people used to bring _proper_ servants here, ones that did their duty without being supervised, aided, abetted or being sat down out of the way and having their knives taken off them. (Arthur knows Merlin isn't as useless as he pretends to think, but if Merlin ever thought that Arthur actually thought him competent, Arthur would never hear the end of it. The pretence must be kept up.)

'Come here,' Lancelot ends up saying after he and Merlin have finished packing up the venison and swilling down the floor, as Arthur cleans and resharpens their knives. Merlin goes, and gets handed a wet, soapy rag. He starts on his face with some relief, and when he's got most of that clean (Arthur can see a smear of blood behind his _ear_, of all places), he starts on his hands and his arms below his rolled up sleeves. Lancelot, who's mopped himself up quite well already, gathers an armful of firewood, winks at Arthur, and saunters into the main lodge.

Arthur puts the last knife and the steel down. They click. Merlin doesn't look up, although Arthur can see his back tense. He drops his rag very deliberately, clearly expecting something (_ a reprimand, a slap on the arse, a smack over the head, Arthur draped all over his back with his hands down Merlin's underthings- there are lots of possibilities_) , and Arthur, smirking to himself, isn't going to give it to him. He doesn't say a word, just follows Lancelot.

The fire isn't exactly roaring yet, in the lodge, but it's warmer than outside, and Lancelot has shed his outer gear, leaning over the fire and feeding it with his shirt untucked and his feet bare. Arthur crouches beside him, warming his hands.

'We have all night,' he says to Lancelot, and the look his comrade shoots him is pure wickedness.

'And we are agreed on the method?'

This is the way they have to work, when Merlin is out of earshot, because he is more than a handful, and he makes them work for every moment they share his flesh and share his bed, which is how they all like it.

And tonight Arthur and Lancelot have something particular to wrest from Merlin - his control. There is a reason they have brought him out here, so far from the castle. Lancelot has known of Merlin's sorcery since they first met, and after his return and their taking up together he managed to persuade Merlin to confess it to Arthur as well (although how they both thought Arthur might not have _noticed_ is beyond him).

It is no secret to either of Merlin's lovers that the power in his blood consumes him at times - his irises will flicker gold and his teeth will clamp on his lip, biting it white and bloodless as his fingers twist and cramp. So far, they have not managed to draw him fully out of himself even at the most intimate of moments, and all he will say to them is that it is too dangerous.

But they like danger, and they both want to see what it is he's so intent on holding in. They both want to see him let go.

'It's the only way,' Arthur points out. Lancelot nods. folding a little smile away as he does so, and Arthur slips a hand roughly into his hair and brings his head back for a kiss.

It is partially because he particularly wants to, admittedly, (he loves his tactically-minded, chivalrous, honourable knight, and he often has this overwhelming urge, usually in public places where it would be very inappropriate) but partially also because he hears Merlin's tread outside the door, and he wants the first thing Merlin sees when he enters to be this - Arthur bearing Lancelot down before the fire, Lancelot's back arched like a dancer's, his hands already going to the laces of Arthur's shirt.

Merlin is unbecomingly jealous of the duty of disrobing Arthur. Arthur likes to tease him about it mercilessly. And Lancelot likes to provoke Merlin's little fits of pique just so that he can gentle him out of them, and that is all that there is to it.

Merlin makes a noise when he does step in, low and bold in his throat.

Arthur lets Lancelot settle to the floor propped up on his elbows, and they both turn their heads to look at Merlin.

'Comfortable?' Merlin asks, and his voice is his version of 'studiedly nonchalant' - i.e. several notches too cheerful and strained.

'Very,' Arthur replies. He shifts a little to let his breeches ride against his thigh a little tighter, and Merlin sees it. Lancelot takes the hint and pushes Arthur's shirt off his shoulders - and it's then that Merlin moves.

'Room for one more?' he asks, and without waiting he slides the shirt entirely off Arthur, running his hands up along all the skin he can reach, and Lancelot takes the opportunity to grab a fistful of kerchief, drawing Merlin over backwards with a flail and a splutter and a laugh into his lap to kiss and undress.

***

They get him bare, after some time (he wriggles and he kicks and Lancelot drags his fingernails through Merlin's hair and Arthur has to lick Merlin's _anklebones_, of all things, to get him to the state they want him in), and then Arthur presses him gently into the bed, face down, and runs his fingers down the cleft of his arse, touching him absolutely nowhere else until his hips jerk involuntarily and his eyes glaze, and he comes for the first time sucking on Lancelot's fingers and with Arthur's tantalising him, just touching, soft and gentle and merciless. But that's the first time, just the first time. Arthur notes tiny swirls of gold clouding Merlin's eyes just before he shuts them tight, and knows they've driven the first wedge.

The bed creaks as Lancelot settles into what is quite possibly a wet patch, and the second time Merlin comes he does it with most of Lancelot's left hand and a good portion of a bottle of oil inside him, and Arthur's tongue in his ear, and a golden haze over his irises.

They don't even let him stop moaning before they begin their assault again, and he bats at them. 'Stop,' he says. 'Let a man _sleep_, for crying out loud.'

'But we're not done,' Lancelot points out innocently.

'You've got each other,' Merlin mutters, trying futilely to curl around a pillow and presumably go to sleep, but every way he turns they touch him. It must be maddening. Arthur would be sympathetic if he weren't feeling so triumphant, and if he weren't still as hard as a rock.

'Get off,' Merlin says groggily and irritably after a a few more moments of this, and hauls himself to his hands and knees. He pushes petulantly at Lancelot until the man settles willingly into the mattress. 'You are _insufferable_,' he mutters at Arthur, and with no further ado ducks his head between Lancelot's legs.

Arthur can't resist the temptation of Merlin's pale, bare arse up in the air as he licks and sucks Lancelot, and lines himself up. He catches Lancelot's eye as he slides in, and they grin at each other until Arthur bottoms out and Merlin moans, after which Lancelot is understandably rather distracted. But Arthur knows they were both thinking exactly the same thing.

It doesn't matter _what_ you do to Merlin, you never floor him for long.

***

'My turn,' says Lancelot roughly, several hours later, and Arthur hears Merlin whimper, possibly in protest and possibly in anticipation, and so he moves aside.

They are cocooned in a nest of blankets and discarded clothes on the bed, and the air is thick with new smells and ringing with the remains of old sounds. Merlin has come four times, and he is shaking, and his nails bite into the palms of his hands. His eyes are deep, desperate golden now, and he has bitten his bottom lip red and puffy. He moans a little as Lancelot settles between his legs.

'I can't,' he says halfheartedly, but there's pressing evidence to hand that he _can_, and that he wants to. Arthur nestles beside Merlin and bites very gently at the outermost edge of his ear, from the lobe all the way around as far as he is able.

'You can,' he murmurs, running a hand down Merlin's side to twine his fingers with Lancelot's.

'You just - love to torture me,' the warlock pants, his thighs trembling as he holds his knees as far apart as he can, wanton as always.

'We want to help you,' Lancelot says, slightly muffled from where he's licking at Merlin's hipbone, his hand working slowly and gently with Arthur's inside their lover. 'We want to see you come for us,' he adds.

Merlin gasps a laugh, his back arching as they move in him. He manages to untangle one hand from the sheets long enough to gesture wildly at the absolute mess that Arthur and Lancelot have managed to make of him so far. 'You haven't noticed?' he croaks. 'Four times. Very - very well done, both of you. Gods of sex. Very impressed. Now will you just _finish me_?' he pleads.

Arthur withdraws his fingers and catches Lancelot's eyes, nodding lower down. Lancelot smiles knowingly at him, and bends his head to where they have both been meddling. Merlin sucks in a great sobbing breath, and Arthur wraps his hand around where Merlin is, despite his claims, clearly eager for more.

'We're safe here,' Arthur croons into Merlin's ear. The panting and the tiny, inarticulate moans are starting to get to him once more., and he knows he'll have to see to himself again soon, but he wants to see this first. 'We're safe, Merlin, there's no-one here but us, no patrols, none of my Father's men ... and we want to see.'

'I-' Merlin says through gritted teeth, writhing now under Lancelot's mouth and Arthur's hand. 'I could _hurt_ you-'

'We're no strangers to pain, Merlin,' Arthur points out.

'_Please_-'

'Just let go-'

'Don't make me-'

A sudden pressure on Arthur's thigh makes him look down - Lancelot is hand-signalling him, a technique that was never meant to cross between battleground and bedroom, but then again, all three of them together is always a little of both. Lancelot has a plan, and it is a magnificent one.

'We're not making you do anything,' the other knight soothes Merlin, gentling him up and letting Arthur subside down onto the pillows and open his legs.

'I don't know - what will-'

'Then we can all find out together,' Arthur points out, pulling Merlin to him, into him.

Lancelot had had Arthur earlier, putting on a show for Merlin when he started to flag from too much touching, and although he can never admit it, Arthur enjoys encouraging these two to try and tackle him in this fashion. Merlin feels hot, elegant and slender inside him, and although he's clearly not himself, his lip bleeding sluggishly where he's worried the skin from it, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands cramping from the effort of keeping himself controlled, the one thing Merlin cannot control is the snap-snap-snap of his hips, and Arthur rolls his body up to meet that rhythm.

When Lancelot covers Merlin's body with his own, sinking his fingers once more back inside, Merlin's eyes open just a slit before he shuts them again, but his movements speed up, lose some of their poise, and he moans deep and guttural. Merlin can keep a rein on the magic, but not on his own masculinity, clearly.

When Lancelot enters Merlin, Arthur feels the push and strains against it, and then they are one, all three of them, and it's been too long for all of them and they are all desperate, stinking and fighting, clawing for release, and Arthur grabs for Merlin's shoulders, almost shaking him, crying 'Now, Merlin, _now_.'

It seems like minutes, _hours_ go past in the time it takes Merlin to open his eyes, which are the colour of hot metal, dangerous and beautiful, and Merlin's face crumples then, as Arthur looks into his eyes. He twists in Arthur's hold, reaches back for Lancelot and crushes the man to him, kissing desperately as if he needs something to hold him to the world, and Arthur feels sudden blinding heat, and he can't hold on any longer.

As the world goes wet and black and star-crossed, he thinks he smells burning.

***  
'Do you have any idea how difficult it was to talk my father out of making me fire you?' Arthur asks.

Merlin ducks as another missile hurtles towards him. 'Do you think maybe you could make some kind of proclamation?' he says instead of answering Arthur's question. 'Something along the lines of 'potatoes are valuable foodstuffs and incidentally quite hard and painful when they hit manservants in the head, so people should stop throwing them at the stocks'?'

'Be glad it's just the stocks, Merlin,' Arthur points out. 'You burnt down the royal hunting lodge.'

'I scorched it. A bit,' Merlin corrects. 'Anyway, you made me do it.'

'I did no such thing,' Arthur scoffs. He starts to walk away.

'Wait, where are you going?' Merlin's voice is plaintive. Arthur smirks briefly, then turns back.

Eyeing the crowd to make sure no-one has any rotten cabbages stored up for just such an occasion, he crouches down to put his mouth strategically close to Merlin's ear.

'I'm going to my rooms,' he whispers. 'Where I'm having every piece of furniture painted with fire-retardant preparations by the master carpenter.'

'We can't-' Merlin begins to hiss back, fiercely. Arthur hushes him with a finger to the lips.

'My rooms have stone walls,' he says, grinning as he feels Merlin shiver at the touch of his breath. 'Just as well for all of us, isn't it.'

He pats Merlin on the head fondly as he gets up.


End file.
